Oh, What a Night
by Jayda Morgana
Summary: One-shot. Sherlock's feeling a bit down after John's wedding … that is, until he discovers someone's saved a dance for him. Epic bromance.


Sherlock turned his coat collar up against the wind, forcing himself to block out the thumping beat coming from the reception hall. _Christmas 1963_; a song he certainly wouldn't have minded dancing to.

"_Oh, what a night …_" The Four Seasons sang, their joyous mood in complete contrast to how Sherlock felt. He felt his vision blur and mentally commanded himself to keep it together. God, this was embarrassing.

Everyone - literally everyone - had had a dancing partner. Molly, Janine, even Mrs. Hudson. Greg. Mary. John. Nobody wanted to dance with him, nobody would've even considered. It didn't matter that he loved dancing, and that he'd been entirely willing to open himself up to the group. None of that mattered now. Sherlock felt himself putting up barriers with his every stride.

Maybe they didn't hate him, exactly, but certainly no one in that ballroom cared much for him. He'd made a complete mess of his best man's speech, but that wasn't all. There were the dozens - or, rather, hundreds - of times he'd committed social faux pas, insulted others and offered up witticisms, only to find everyone in his company completely offended.

He was an arse. He didn't matter to any of them and he knew it.

* * *

Sherlock returned to his empty flat and made his way up to his room. He knew he'd have to get used to this loneliness with John gone, off in his world of domestic bliss. Ugh.

It wasn't that he didn't like Mary - he actually thought they were a good fit for each other. John would be happy, and that's what really mattered. He felt selfish and petulant, but most of all, lonely. That once-familiar sensation was going to take some getting used to.

* * *

"Sherlock? Sherlock."

Sherlock blinked awake. Apparently he'd fallen asleep, splayed out on his bed, his suit crumpled and his pillow wet - with drool, he hoped, and not what he suspected.

"Sherlock." John stood above him, deep concern clouding his features. "I called over a dozen times, what're you doing here?"

Sherlock shook his head confusedly. "Got a bit overstimulated at the party," he insisted. "Sorry about that."

"Mary said she saw you walk right out," John said. "I tried following, but you were already gone. Jesus, Sherlock, she said you looked really upset."

"Of course I was upset," Sherlock said. "Like I said, overstimulation. And Sholto - all that business was unfortunate."

"And it all turned out _fine_," John said. "As for the sensory overload bit, I'm not buying it. You've never complained about that in your life, not even at my stag party." He scratched his neck awkwardly. "So, what's going on, then?"

Sherlock shrugged.

"Are we really gonna play this game?"

"It doesn't matter. It was something stupid."

John wracked his brains. "Was this about … no, wait. About … Janine, maybe? You seemed rather fond of her."

"Not exactly." Sherlock sighed. "John, I really wish you'd stop-"

John shook his head. "I'm not gonna go back to my place with you like this, Sherlock. You're gonna tell me."

My place. Sherlock shuddered.

"Wait - oh. _Oh_." John realized. "You don't want me leaving."

"Perhaps not." Sherlock thought for a moment. "I realized how alone I was tonight. Molly has Tom, you have Mary, even Greg and Mrs. Hudson found dance partners. I-"

"Sherlock." John took Sherlock's shoulders. "You're not alone. You're never alone, okay? I'll literally be two clicks from you, and we'll still go out on cases. I'm still your friend, and Mary's your friend, too. You hear me?" He stood up and, to Sherlock's surprise, exited the room, returning a second later with a portable radio. He chose a pop-piano song and turned up the volume.

"What are you-" Sherlock began, mouth agape.

"Stand up, you git," John motioned. "We're dancing."

"What-?"

"You heard me. Get up. Dance with me!"

"John-"

"Oh, okay, I'll leave, then." John pretended to walk out of the room. "Shame. Janine was telling me you did a pretty impressive pirouette earlier."

Sherlock's jaw dropped even further. "This won't go far to stop the rumors … about us."

"Oh, hush. I just got married, and I want to dance with my best man. Show me your moves!"

Sherlock started off a bit hesitantly, but once the song changed to a disco tune, he and John were in full swing. They danced about, flailing their arms about and laughing uproariously.

"We forgot to close the curtains!" Sherlock gasped.

"Sod that!" John said with a laugh.

They didn't stop for a solid nine songs, all of different variety. Eventually John turned down the volume, hunched over, completely out of breath.

"See? I'm still here, Sherlock," he said. "And I saved nine dances for you. Don't you forget it."

Sherlock smiled thinly.

"More importantly, you're not alone. Like I said, two clicks away."

Sherlock's smile broadened.

"I gotta get back to Mary, okay? But phone me if you need anything."

He exited, leaving a pleasantly surprised Sherlock in his wake, thinking incoherent thoughts like: _dancing. We danced. Not alone. Two kilometers away. Friend._

Sherlock hadn't been expecting that, for certain. His faced flushed, happy to think what a good friend he had.

Oh, what a night, indeed.


End file.
